Pull Me Close
by half agony and hope
Summary: "Brushing aside his fears as though he's made some kind of unforgiveable sin in trying to save me is not the way to handle this. Because I understand now. Jane is not only trying to save me. He's trying to save himself. I'd been so sure I was right, that I deserved to win this argument. But as it turns out, neither of us did." A variation on Copper Bullet.


**AN: So I was rewatching "Copper Bullet" today and realized that I really disliked how Jane and Lisbon handled their first real fight as a couple. This is an attempt to rectify that. Because really, they both had extremely valid concerns, but both of them were talking past each other rather than _to_ each other so the other never truly understood where they were coming from. At any rate, it felt therapeutic to write. I hope you'll enjoy it as well!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

* * *

" _You know, we never finished our conversation."_

Jane avoids my eyes. "No," he says finally. "We didn't."

"I love you," I say with emphasis, winding my arm around his. "But I also love my job. I don't know what I'd be without it."

Jane nods once, twice. "I know. I know that." He takes a deep breath that's a little shaky, and I'm surprised at the rare show of vulnerability from him. "Believe me, the last thing I want to do is make you unhappy. And I know how happy your job makes you."

"Yet you're going to keep trying to pull me out of the way of every train that comes near me. I don't know how I can do my job if that's what's going to happen here."

Jane's forearm tenses beneath my fingers, and a few seconds pass by in silence. "I don't want to lose you," he whispers, and he finally looks over at me.

When I meet his eyes, it's like I've been transported back in time over a decade ago to the moment we first met. There is a rawness in Jane's expression, a trauma, that seems so foreign to me because it's been missing since he came back from South America.

I realize now that Jane's trauma had never truly left him. He's just become more adept at hiding it.

The way he's looking at me—it's as though he's just lost his family all over again. I realize suddenly that this must be how he feels.

He's already resigned himself to losing me. He's _preparing_ himself to lose me.

It seems like the cruelest thing in the world to try to assure him that he won't. I can't tell Jane that—I can't tell the man who's already lost one love that he won't lose another.

So, instead, I squeeze his hand. "This, uh," I begin quietly, stammering slightly. "This is too important to discuss here." I shift slightly as the music changes, and a slower, jazzier song radiates from the speakers. "Can we talk—I mean _really_ talk—when we get home?"

Jane nods, and there's a flicker behind his eyes. When I blink, the rawness is gone, replaced by a neutral façade. "Of course," he says, and he sounds relieved, like he'd expected me to shoot down all his arguments before he made them.

I lean into him and whisper, "You want to dance?"

That gets a smile from him. "What, here? In front of everyone?"

I smile back. "Maybe it's time we let them in on the secret," I suggest.

When I see the expression on his face—the unadulterated, purest joy—I'm left wondering why I didn't let him tell people sooner. This relationship is a big milestone for Jane. In a way, it marks a turning point in his life. He's chosen to live in the present and not the past.

Clearly this is something that should be celebrated, not kept a secret.

So I pull him to his feet and lead him out onto the dance floor. His right hand immediately goes to rest on my lower back, and he grabs my right in his left. He pulls me close, and I tuck my head into the crook of his neck.

He sways us back and forth to the jazzy tune, and I remind myself that I need to come up with more excuses to take Jane dancing. He's a natural.

"Don't look now," says Jane, his lips at my ear, "but Abbott is looking our way with an 'I told you so' sort of expression."

Despite Jane's warning, I have to see for myself. Abbott is indeed looking at us, his expression smug but pleased. He shoots me a smile, and I blush furiously.

As I turn back to look at Jane, I catch a glance at Wylie and Vega, who are also dancing together. Not surprisingly, their eyes are on Jane and me as well, but when they see that I've caught them looking, they immediately turn back to each other and begin giggling.

I rest my head on Jane's chest, and he pulls me closer.

"I don't want this song to end," he whispers.

I can't find words to respond, so I tighten my grip on his shoulder and lift my head to press a kiss to the line of his jaw.

* * *

An hour later, I'm lying in bed in the Airstream facing the window, and the sound of running water from the bathroom sink tells me Jane is about to join me. Sure enough, a few seconds later the door opens, and a sliver of light floods the Airstream before Jane hits the switch and we are washed in darkness.

The bed sinks when he slides in, and he drops a kiss just beneath my ear before he pulls the covers over himself.

We're quiet for a minute or so. Finally, I gather the courage to speak.

"Hold me?" I ask, so quietly I'm sure he hasn't heard me.

But he has, and his arms circle around me again, pulling me close, my back to his chest. His lips touch the back of my neck as he says, "What's wrong?"

I find one of his hands and squeeze it.

"I, uh, I tried to put myself in your position," I whisper. "I wanted to see your side of the argument."

"And?" asks Jane, and I can tell he's unsure if he will like my answer or not.

"And," I say, trying to make my tone lighter but failing miserably, "it's a wonder it's taken you this long to try to pull me out of danger."

And it's true. With his history, I'm amazed that this issue has only just begun to manifest recently.

But now I can empathize.

Jane lost his wife and his daughter. In the process, he nearly lost his own life. I, of all people, should understand the emotional trauma, the psychological baggage, that will follow him around for the rest of his life.

Yes, he will heal, but he will never _be_ healed _._

Brushing aside his fears as though he's made some kind of unforgiveable sin in trying to save me is not the way to handle this.

Because I understand now. Jane is not only trying to save me.

He's trying to save himself.

Consciously or unconsciously, Jane doesn't think he'll survive if I die before him. This is his way of ensuring that doesn't happen. It's an act of self-preservation.

I roll over and tell him what I've worked through. He watches me gravely the entire time, the trauma evident once more in his eyes.

"Is that about right?" I finally ask. I don't have to wonder why he never told me this.

Jane is good at many things, but communication is not one of them.

"Yeah," he says, and one of his hands moves to my hip, his thumb tracing over the skin that's exposed there. "Yeah, that about sums it up." His hand stills. "I feel like I'm losing it, Lisbon," he whispers. "I'm so close to breaking. I know I have no right to tell you how to live your life. And I'm sorry I interfered. Really, I am. I was completely and utterly in the wrong. I just…" he trails off.

This apology means more to me than I can say. One of the reasons I'd brushed his concerns aside was because Jane can be controlling and secretive, and I've always known these traits to be red flags in a relationship. I had no intention of letting Jane control my life.

I still don't.

But this apology tells me he's not trying to. He's just trying to get himself out of this situation without ending up back on the psych ward.

I'd been so sure I was right, that I deserved to win this argument.

As it turns out, neither of us could.

"I'm sorry, too," I say. "The work we do is dangerous, and your worry is completely legitimate. I'm sorry if I made it seem to be otherwise."

He breathes out. "What are we going to do?" he asks, his voice quivering slightly.

"I don't know," I admit. I prop myself up on my elbow to stare down at him. "But I'm sure we can think of something—a solution that we both are happy with."

In the dim light from the moon, Jane's eyes shine, and I watch as a tear falls from the corner of his eye, catching that same light as it runs down his cheek.

"I'm so in love with you, Lisbon," he says. "All I want is to have the rest of our lives together in order to prove that to you." His arms wrap around me, pulling me close once more.

"I think that can be arranged," I say, laying my head on his chest, and the last of his tears trickle down to land like raindrops in my hair.


End file.
